


The Gaol Cell

by atheling



Series: Lancelot and Gawain's Excellent Adventures [1]
Category: Arthurian Mythology
Genre: Adventure, Lancelot is sad and gay, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:34:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28604544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atheling/pseuds/atheling
Summary: Lancelot and Gawain are thrown in prison, but only for a bit.
Relationships: Gawain/Lancelot du Lac (Arthurian)
Series: Lancelot and Gawain's Excellent Adventures [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2105058
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	The Gaol Cell

**Author's Note:**

> heyyy this is my first fanfic. this fandom is so cool and im glad i stumbled on it!

“Don’t look at me like that-- you’re going to say this is my fault. It’s not my fault at all, I just want that on the record.” 

Lancelot stared at him for a second. “Right. Right. Except it kind of is your fault, right?”

“Well-- well strictly speaking,” Gawain floundered. “It may be partially the result of my actions, yes. Partially. But also, it’s kind of what's-his-face’s fault, because clearly his wife was not satisfied with him. So.” 

“Clearly.” They stewed in silence. Lancelot tried hard not to think about how clearly she  _ had  _ been satisfied with Gawain, with Gawain’s lips and hands and--  _ no, don’t think about that, Lancelot. Don’t be a jealous bitch.  _ He tried to think of other conversational topics. 

“The food was pretty good,” said Gawain, evidently sensing the tension. “You know, before-- well.” 

“Well.” He was trying so hard not to think about  _ well.  _ Treacherously, his mouth kept talking. “She was really pretty, wasn’t she.”

“And very creative!” Gawain said enthusiastically. Lancelot was very much regretting the decision to speak.

What had happened was not unusual. They had entered the charming town of Portwhich that morning, searching for a dragon, and had dined at the lord’s house for lunch. Events had proceeded such that Gawain had been caught in the kitchen making out with the lord’s wife. Now they were both stuck in the village gaol, and Lancelot couldn’t stop thinking about the image of Gawain, his back against a wall and his hands all over the lord’s wife. He knew he shouldn’t be feeling out of sorts. He shouldn’t even be jealous-- Gawain was his  _ friend _ , and he wouldn’t trade that for the world. And it wasn’t fair of him to imagine Gawain doing to him all the things he had been doing to the lord’s wife, not when Gawain had never given any inclination he was even attracted to men, much less to Lancelot specifically.

“You’ve got a funny look on. What, are you jealous?” Gawain asked, grinning.

“Ah--” Lancelot panicked. “I--”

“You are!” crowed Gawain, with an air of harmless teasing. “Well don’t be glum. You know I’m sure there are very many pretty Lord’s wives who’d love your attention.” 

Lancelot sagged in relief. “Oh, that’s-- haha, yeah. I don’t know. About that, I mean, you know, I haven’t met them yet!”

Gawain brushed him off with an eye roll. “I very much doubt that. But look, soon as we break out of prison-- well probably not right after, we have to be run out of town first-- but next town we get to that I haven’t been run out of, I’ll-- you know, give you a hand.” 

Suddenly Lancelot felt himself blushing. “A hand-- uh-- where?”

“With the ladies, of course. What else, jousting? It’s always jousting with you.” 

“Ah, right, jousting.” Lancelot breathed out a sigh of relief. For one horrible moment he had thought Gawain  _ knew _ , that Gawain knew how he felt-- how he tried so hard not to feel-- and was mocking him, mocking him with an innuendo and a lewd look. But no, Gawain was his friend. He needed to trust him. “No, but. You don’t have to. I mean, that’s really nice of you. I’m just not good with-- with women.”

Gawain looked at him for a moment curiously. “All your friends are women pretty much.”

“Ah, yeah, but they hate me.”

“Oh, I see,” said Gawain, laughing. “Well I’ll see about that. Shouldn’t be hard, really, you can just stand there looking all handsome and I’ll talk.” 

“That’s-- sweet,” said Lancelot, giving up. He elected to ignore the compliment. Gawain said a lot of things like that and didn’t mean any of them, because he was Gawain, who said a lot of words made of air and smiled pretty smiles that had nothing behind them. He did it to be kind, probably. At least to Lancelot. “So… what do you think they’re going to do with us?”

“Maybe some sort of public whipping,” Gawain suggested excitedly. Then he shrugged. “But eh, I should be so lucky. I’ll talk our way out, and if that doesn’t work you can start hitting people. That always works. We work well together like that.”

“I  _ love  _ hitting people,” said Lancelot enthusiastically, back once more on solid ground. “I’ve also been experimenting with, with stabbing--”

“I bet you’re good at that too. You know what, we’ll arrange some galant sort of public stabbing and hitting people affair for you to engage in and then-- excuse the wordplay, you’ll find yourself very popular to engage in other sorts of affairs.” 

“You think that would work?”

“It would work on me.” 

“Ah.”  _ If only.  _ “Thanks! If I was-- if you were a woman you’d go in for that? For me stabbing people?”

Gawain blinked. “Yeah, definitely. And also if-- oh. Ah, there’s someone coming.” 

The footsteps sounding down the hall cut inconveniently into all the things Lancelot’s brain was doing, like thinking about what Gawain was saying to him-- Gawain who couldn’t know, who couldn’t know anything that Lancelot wanted so desperately to tell him, and was trying to be kind. Trying to make Lancelot feel good about himself.  _ It would work on me.  _ Lancelot had allowed himself to hope, on occasion, to imagine, and his thoughts had always been dashed on the brutal rocks of reality. But Gawain’s face was ever-so-slightly flushed in the dark cell, and for just a second, against all his instincts, Lancelot let himself think about a world where maybe, just  _ maybe-- _

“Sir Gawain!” a voice whispered through the grate in their door.

“Oh, hello there. What’s such a charming person as this doing in such a grim prison? Mary, yes? The kitchen maid?”

__ _ Oh, wonderful, _ thought Lancelot without much feeling.  _ Excellent. Fantastic.  _

__ There was some rattling from the lock on the door before it swung open. “I heard you and your friend were arrested, and I thought-- I mean, you’re such a brave knight-- someone had to rescue you, right?”

“And how very lucky I am,” he said easily, “that my rescuer should be such a lovely one.” 

She giggled. Lancelot seethed. 

But no matter the method, they did at least get out of gaol, and left as soon as possible, riding out of town at a canter as the sun set. Once a few leagues of distance had been put between them and the town, they slowed, and as the light of the dying sun glinted gold off of Gawain’s hair, Lancelot said, “You really think there are a lot of people who would-- uh-- I mean-- kiss me?”

He expected another easy, flippant remark. But Gawain gave him a long look before replying. “I don’t think there is any-- any lady who could keep from giving their heart to you, even if it was made of stone.”

_ I wish yours wasn’t _ , thought Lancelot, as they spurred their horses into a canter once more. 


End file.
